


Black Magic

by Hi0ctane



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Demons, M/M, Magic, Newt the Demon, Oblivious Thomas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 11:15:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20865302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hi0ctane/pseuds/Hi0ctane
Summary: "HALLOWEEN AU. Newt is a demon/night creature, Thomas is a magic user, spells happen, mistakes are made, its all dark and evocative, they're both INTENT on one another but in true newtmas fashion they don't get there right away.But whats all hallows eve without mischief and magic?"





	Black Magic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KathSilver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KathSilver/gifts).

> Written for the Maze Runner Reverse Bang 2019; based on the wonderful playlist by KathSilver which you can find [here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4tFJcrOf7MziPuxmefXYDv?si=vh2BLq6LSpqhd66s80kCHw)
> 
> Kath, it's been a pleasure working for your prompt, although I think I might have deviated a little bit from it. I hope you have as much fun reading this story as I had writing it. :)

Thomas sighed heavily, lowering his trembling hands to the dusty, old book open in front of him. It wasn’t working; the circle of chalk in front of him remained quiet and unsuspecting, the air wasn’t filled with the stench of sulfur and brimstone, the candles didn’t even burn any brighter. He would have to revise the spell before he could continue.

Again. 

Weeks and weeks he’d been trying to get the incantations right, to find the correct words, to pronounce every syllable in a way that would call forth a powerful servant of hell itself – all to fulfil his final assignment, to finally get out of the stifling room that was his study and sleeping quarters all rolled into one, to call himself a full mage. 

Frustrated by the situation Thomas grabbed his coat, ignoring the indignant caw from the crow watching him from the windowsill. Just another watcher, just another prying eye from his master; he couldn’t care less, even shooed the bird off with a crude gesture. He needed to get out, get some air. Not think about this spell for a second, or a minute, or, if life was good to him for once, for a few hours. 

He left.

xxx

The Pit was located between two slanting buildings, completely invisible to anyone outside of the magical community. No, invisible wasn’t the right term; people could see the building, the stairs leading into the basement with its heavy steel door with the little barred window, but through an enchantment or two nobody even paid the door a second glance – unless they were touched by the other realms, and easily saw through the spell.

Thomas took the stairs two at a time, eyes not even flicking to the doorman of the night, a burly man with two miniscule horns on his shaved forehead. He was ignored in return as he pushed the door open, stepping into the half-light of the underworld bar, the low reds and golds that shone like perpetual autumn just before the fall of the night. 

The room wasn’t big, with a long, slightly winding bar on one side and an eerily lit dancefloor on the other. Thomas didn’t pay attention to the few people that were already dancing, languidly moving to the low tunes he could feel through the vibrations in the floor. He headed straight for the bar, sitting down on a stool, and put his head down onto his crossed arms. 

“That kinda day, eh?” the bartender asked, sliding him a glass with an amber liquid. 

“Oh don’t start.” 

Thomas’ words came out muffled, and he lifted his head with the dramatics of a man who had tried everything and still failed, glowering half-hearted at the man opposite him. Gally, the bartender, just smirked, his dark brown tail flicking back and forth behind him. When they had first met (a few years ago, with Thomas technically too young to even think of visiting a bar, but nobody calling him out on it, knowing where he came from) Gally had just been summoned by an advanced mage, who had, unfortunately, met his demise in the process of the summoning. Since then Gally had been stuck in the realm of the humans, unable to return to hell as the spell still held him here, even without the man that had cast it in the first place; it had left him surly and prone to look for fights, which he’d easily found with Thomas. They’d come a long way since their first meeting with Gally’s hands around his neck and Thomas’ magic swirling around him like a coiled snake, brawling on the floor of the bar, surrounded by people and demons alike, egging them on. Today, you could even say there were friends, though they still fought quite regularly. 

“Still the spell?” 

Thomas made a sound that could either be agreement or a request to put him out of his misery, and he downed half the drink in one go. It burned on the way down, making him feel warm in a way nothing else seemed to manage these days. His hands were constantly cold. 

“Whatever I do, I just can’t seem to get it right. The words are there, but there’s no reaction. I’ve tried all kinds of accentuations, I’ve even tried a different translation, swapping words, anything. All I have left is trying with different vessels for the magic. Candles and blood alone don’t seem to do the trick.” 

He lifted his hand at that, wiggling the fresh band aid covering his ring finger. Gally just hummed, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Might be worth a try to check out the night market tomorrow. Maybe you can get what you need there, without adding more cuts to your collection.” 

“You’re so helpful. What would I do without you,” Thomas said drily, going back to his whiskey and looking around. The bar was slowly filling up; most mages and apprentices had finished their work for the day, and meeting at the Pit was a regular occurrence for most of them. He saw a group of witches he knew near the dance floor, one of them accompanied by her own demon, and waved tiredly before taking another sip. 

Then, suddenly, a cold gust of wind made him shiver.

Thomas turned to the door that was just closing, letting in a foreign man and the bouncer himself, and his heart missed a beat and then seemed to stop altogether for a few seconds. He could hear the doorman, saying something about the other not being allowed in here, but he seemed to lose his own line of thought as well as the newcomer turned on him, quietly saying a few choice words and then slipping inside the bar with fluid grace. He went for the bar as well, lifting his hand to summon Gally over to his side, and Thomas could do nothing but stare.

He's not a face Thomas has seen before, neither in the Pit not anywhere else in the damned confines of the Last City. There were brown eyes, keen and interested, and a certain twist of irony on thin, slightly chapped lips that ordered a bottle of something from Gally. The stranger was wearing something so completely mundane that it looked almost out of place in the bar - a pair of slightly tattered jeans and a near-threadbare shirt, with his blonde hair all over the place in the most perfect definition of an unintentional bedhead Thomas had ever seen. There were no horns, no claws, nothing that even suggested a supernatural heritage, so he had to be a human mage as well. 

Thomas felt his mouth go dry against his own judgement as the man turned to him. 

"You're not here often," the blonde hummed, bottle already lifted halfway up to his lips. Thomas nodded a little dumbly, eyes darting to the rim of the bottle, thoughts going wayward. He was looking for his words, but they had died out somewhere. 

Shit, he had to get a grip of himself.

"Pity," the other continued. "A face such as yours clearly lights up this hellhole. I'm Newt." 

"Thomas," Thomas said, shaking his hands and feeling a shiver run down his spine. Newt's fingers were cold, colder than his own, even, like he'd just come in from the wintery bowels of the countryside. "One of Janson's students." 

"Oh, is that so?" 

Newt sounded delighted at that, leaning forward. The shadows of the room seemed to make room for him, flitting around his form in the most spectacular display of optics Thomas could think of. It made his head swim. "The old crook doesn't even know how to conduct his own spells anymore, so he gets fresh blood into his convent by pretending to teach them. You sure must have a hard life with a mentor such as that. He's nasty." 

"Can't deny that," Thomas muttered, feeling a little unrooted on the spot. He felt Newt petting his arm, then turning his head to the side, barking out an order. 

"Gally. Get this young man a top up to his drink, my treat. And you, Tommy," he continued, his attention zeroing back in on Thomas like a hungry bird of prey, "you unwind a little from the strenuous activity of following around a dimwit in a robe. What's he making you do, huh? Sweep floors? Polish bookrests?" 

"Try to summon a demon, actually," Thomas said sourly, accepting the glass Gally slid his way and nodding to Newt in thanks. The other smirked, taking another swig from his bottle and licking the rim of the bottle absent-mindedly, listening intently as Thomas began to talk about his assignment. 

“He’s given all his students the task, actually – summon a higher demon of hell, bind it to this realm with a spell, and show that you mastered control of it. If we manage, we get to call ourselves mages and wizards, and we’re allowed to leave the convent. Which would be… good.” Good didn’t even cover it. Thomas had spent all his life cooped in in Janson’s rooms and studies, ever since his parents had sold him off as a child that displayed remarkable magical potential. He longer for his freedom more than anything, but he knew that he couldn’t just leave, not without finishing the assignment. The spells Janson had bound them with was too strong to be broken by a student without a demon at his side. 

"Daring, daring. Demons can be a handful," Newt said with a raised brow, and Thomas wondered if he knew, if he had summoned one before as well. He didn't look like an experienced spellcaster, but appearances could be deceiving. Thomas himself knew that much. 

There was movement behind them, just as Newt opened his mouth to continue, and someone put a hand on his arm. There was a horned creature with surprisingly perfect hair, shooting an unimpressed glance at the blonde. Newt sighed. 

"Thomas, meet Minho, my loyal guard dog," he drawled, much to the dismay of the other man. Minho, Thomas could tell from his appearance alone, must be a bigger number in the hierarchy of hell. His horns were curled, his tail was swishing back and forth in slight annoyance, and his - undoubtedly attractive - features were accentuated by the criss-cross of silvery veins that extended to his pointed hears and swirled down his neck. Not a simple foot soldier, then, a higher being, and apparently one with an attitude. 

"A guard dog who reminds you that you are late," Minho hissed, not even really greeting Thomas. Newt rolled his eyes. He downed the rest of his bottle, and climbed off his bar stool with the same grace he had displayed on the way inside. He had to be a dancer or something. 

"Alas, there goes my freedom. It was sure nice meeting you, though."

He bowed, playfully, as Thomas sputtered a little. Then Newt turned on his heel, heavy boots clicking on the wooden floor, and offered a last, lingering glance across his shoulder before he followed Minho out of the door. 

"I see you around, Tommy."

xxx

Thomas got back to his room later – much later, in fact; he had finished his second whiskey much slower, thinking of the fact that the stranger, no, Newt had bought it for him (and how his eyes had sparkled in the light of the bar, how his hair had looked like molten gold in the firelight). He wasn’t swaying when he exited the Pit, but he walked slower, lost in thought.

He wondered if there was a way of finding a wizard called Newt in any of the books he had. If he’d meet him again at the Pit. If he was gone forever, as quickly as he’d come into his life. 

Thomas unlocked the door of his room with a sight, ignoring the black cat waiting for him on the stairs, and fell on his bed in full clothes. His head was swimming, and not from the alcohol. 

Sure, he’d seen attractive people before – mages and witches had the tendency to be good-looking, usually due to one spell or another. But this feeling, this strange desire low in his body? That definitely was new. The young man had exuded a confidence that left Thomas stunned, that was even stronger than his incredible appearance alone. 

He fell into fitful sleep, not even taking off his shoes. In his dreams there were fire and brimstone and heat, so much heat, and amber eyes watching him from the dark.

xxx

The next morning brought rain and a sudden influx of cold, and Thomas closed his window to the slanted fall of water that threatened to ruin the books on his desk. He returned to the revisions of his spell, reading and reading for hours, correcting and annotating, trying to look for the perfect vessel for the summon.

In the late afternoon he considered Gally’s suggestion from the night before. The night market of the Last City was an irregular gathering of the magical community, and a place to get supplies for any kind of spell. If his candles – which were good candles, mind you; Thomas had enchanted them himself – and his blood weren’t working, maybe something other would. He noted down a number of herbs and spices he had to get, and finally decided on trying the summon with a gemstone amulet if he could find something that worked for him. Some demons could be tempted by beauty, if power wasn’t enough to sway them. 

He tried the spell once more, when sun was already setting, but still his circle of chalks remained cold and untouched. Janson’s crow watched him impassionate, and Thomas nearly threw a book through the window just to get it away from him. Frustration burned inside of him.

Finally, when it was fully dark out and the clocks were getting closer to midnight, he abandoned his study for a trip to the market. The way wasn’t far, and so Thomas walked despite the rain still coming down. The streets were lit in neon colours, and the fall air was getting colder by the day; Thomas took a deep breath, and out here he felt alive. He couldn’t wait to get away from the stifling rooms he had to exist in. 

The market was big and lively when Thomas arrived. Just like the Pit, it appeared unsuspecting for the average human eye, with market stalls of herbs and spices and art, maybe. To him, however, well-trained in the ways of magic and experienced when it came to the secrets of their trade it was a place of opportunity – old women selling magical components, the art stalls specializing in trades and offerings for summons of all cases. Thomas quickly found what he came for, aside from the initial gift for his demon-to-be, and then traversed the market without hurry. He really didn’t want to get home so soon. This was much nicer. 

The cold breeze travelling up his neck should have been a sign for him, but Thomas didn’t identify it correctly until he turned away from a stall, eyes going to the alleyway behind him. There, lit by the pinks and blues of the neon lights reflecting on the wet pavement, was Newt, smirking at him like he had known he’d been here all along. Next to him was Minho, raising an eyebrow expectantly. 

Thomas approached as if caught in a spell himself; in this light Newt looked even better, his eyes reflecting the neon and his teeth bared in a near-dangerous grin, again bleeding confidence. He cocked his head as the other approached. 

“What a coincidence,” Newt said, and his voice was dangerously close to a purr. Minho rolled his eyes at his side. 

“What brings you out here into the night, Tommy? Don’t you know that it’s dangerous to walk the streets alone? You could be picked up by unsavoury people.”

The way his tone dipped low as he spoke make Thomas heart flutter. Newt looked at him like he wanted to eat him up, hunt him down, and as wrong as it should be it only made Thomas more excited. Screw all the people that were still around for the market; if it was up to him he’d follow Newt anywhere in these darkened streets, despite not even knowing him. 

“You threatening to abduct me?” he said breathily, to which Newt only laughed – a beautiful, sharp sound that went right under Thomas skin. 

“Please. As if I’d be the only one,” he said, somewhat ominously. There was a cigarette between his fingers, but it wasn’t lit; darkness danced around him like his own personal army of shadows, and all Thomas could see was pink and blue and so, so much gold, and the amber of his eyes that seemed to much brighter in these lights. He wondered if the four shadows behind Newt’s back were just his mind playing tricks on him – they moved like an extension of the blonde’s body, like they belonged to him personally.

“I hoped to see you again, though,” the blonde purred, standing very close to Thomas. He smelled of mint and a hint of tobacco, warm despite the cold his fingers radiated. A fingertip ran across Thomas’ cheek, down to his chin, and cupped it softly, so he had to look into Newt’s eyes. 

“You’re quite… fascinating.” 

“Newt.” 

Again, it was Minho who butted into their moment. Thomas’ frustration threatened to flare up, but he bit it back; Newt just nodded, slowly, and let go of his chin. 

“Sadly we have another… assignment to finish tonight,” the blonde muttered, ignoring his demon entirely. “However, we’d be pleased to see you in the Pit tomorrow. I think I owe you another drink for assaulting you so suddenly on the streets.” 

“Sure,” Thomas breathed, barely audible over the rush of people behind them, but Newt seemed to have heard him. He smirked, easily, then took half a step back. 

“Good luck with your spell, Tommy. Maybe you should try burning some sage. I heard it works wonders.” 

And with that the spell on Thomas seemed to dissipate, and he blinked, looking at Newt’s disappearing back, followed by Minho. His breath returned in one, powerful rush, and had to hold on to the wall not to stumble. 

Whatever it was with Newt, it was holding him captive in a way he didn’t want to escape.

xxx

He tried burning sage the next morning, but it didn’t get him any farther. Thomas was about to slam the book when his study door opened and Janson stepped in, expectant eyebrow raised and disdain written all over the face.

The morning couldn’t get any worse.

xxx

Thomas was late to the Pit, only arriving when it was already filled to the brim with bodies moving left and right, the music louder than the last time he’d been here. He could feel the thrumming bass in his teeth, hissed at the headache building behind his eyes. He wanted a drink. He wanted to forget the smug face of his instructor, wanted to forget about the whole demon-summoning business, wanted –

Wanted the person sitting next to his barstool from two night ago, casually sipping a beer, waiting. The other chair was empty despite the bar being full. 

Thomas sat down, and Newt smirked at him triumphantly. 

“I knew you’d come,” he said, then frowned. “Why the long face? You don’t look too happy to see me.”

“It’s not about you,” Thomas muttered, then winced at his own choice of words. “No, I mean – argh. It’s Janson. He’s giving me an ultimatum. I have one more week to finish the summon. If I fail…” 

He shrugged. Failure was not an option. Thomas was pretty sure the wizard had said the same to the crows, and the cats, and all the animals that were following Thomas around as his eyes and ears at this point. He didn’t want to end like them. 

Newt’s eyes narrowed as he spoke. There was another whiskey in front of Thomas, amber like Newt’s eyes had been in the neon lights, and the blonde motioned for him to have a sip. 

“Your… instructor… is quite the asshole,” Newt observed. His hand was curled around his own bottle, and Thomas felt another pang of want at the sight, at the association his mind provided. Those long fingers were enticing, exciting, and he couldn’t help himself. 

“That he is,” Thomas muttered, taking another swig of his whiskey and relishing in the burn in his throat. Newt leaned forward as he sat the glass down, finger swiping across his lip, picking up a stray drop that had lingered. He’d put the finger into his own mouth, then, looking at Thomas with challenge in his gaze. 

The young mage felt his heart beat in his throat. Whatever Newt was, really, he didn’t care anymore – those eyes held him prisoners, especially as he leant forward slowly, breathing against his lips. 

“I heard you a looking for a vessel for your spell. Well, chance has that I have just the right thing for you – a little gift from one friend to another.” 

He pressed something cool and sharp into Thomas hand. Looking down the brunette saw the pointed end of a gemstone amulet, made out of fine silver and a shining, red stone he’d never seen before. It looked like fire caught behind glass, glistening as he turned it into the light. 

“This –“ Thomas began, but Newt cut him off. 

“Is a gift,” he said again, still awfully, awfully close, “and you will use it, and you will gain your freedom from this monstrosity of a wizard, and then, maybe, you will be good and say thank you…”

Thank you? Thomas wanted to do more than that, his eyes flickering from Newt’s eyes to his lips and back again. He felt himself moving closer still, their lips very nearly touching, tension jumping back and forth between them like static electricity, and Thomas wanted, oh, how he wanted – 

“Maybe you want to take this somewhere else?” the blonde muttered. Thomas was about to nod, dumbly caught like a moth by a flame, coming closer and closer until he burned…

“Not yet,” Newt said against his mouth, lips touching as he spoke. He tasted of beer and mint and moonlight, and Thomas shivered, the cold inside of him swept away by a sudden onslaught of heat and hunger. 

“Finish your spell, then see me again.” 

And he knew he would.

xxx

The morning brought fog and the first gusts of winter, and Thomas woke with the amulet in hand and chaos inside his heart. He sat up, eyes on the gemstone. It pulsed slowly with its own light from within, entirely too alive for simple jewellery, but he wouldn’t even think about that. Whatever it was, it was Newt’s; and whatever it was, Thomas had a feeling it would work.

He got to work immediately, renewing the chalk circle with precision, painting the floorboards of his study in white and red. At this point he knew all the signs by heart, drew them with acute precision around himself in the centre of the circle. Thomas lit the candle, burned the herbs, and then placed the gemstone where he had stood himself, prone in the middle of his magical circle, a centrepiece to the artwork he had created without even looking it up once. 

He knew that this time, he would get it right. 

The magic began to flow out of him immediately as he began the first lines, moving around him like a stormy gust of wind, cold at first, then turning hotter and hotter until he found himself in what felt like a desert storm approaching. It danced in circles, uprooting some of his books, disturbing the bird that still watched from the windowsill. 

Thomas kept talking, every line of the spell perfectly pronounced. The warmth gave way to heat, and the flames of his candles fanned up all at once, burning brighter than the gem in the centre of the circle. 

Thomas took his knife and nicked his finger, giving a few drops of blood for the spell to take off properly. They hit the gemstone like the faintest hint of summer rain. 

And then, the portal opened. 

The light came first, bright and red and bursting out of thin air like some kind of dam had been broken. The warmth came next, enveloping Thomas even more, turning the room stifling hot and making sweat bead on his forehead. He never stopped reading, though; word after word flew from his lips, opening the wall of light and fire into a doorway, making way for the summon to step through. 

And he did. 

Thomas saw a flicker of gold, getting wider and brighter, opening up. A clawed hand came through, with fine, long fingers and long, dangerous nails. The body that followed was lean, with golden veins all over, scattered like sunlight through autumn trees. The demon was winged; four powerful, black wings extended from his back, and his long, curled horns framed his handsome, pale face – 

And Thomas stopped breathing, having reached the end of his spell. He stared into amber eyes and the most amazing lopsided smirk as the demon stepped out of the portal, clawed feet clicking on the hardwood floor, coming for him with confidence. 

It was Newt. 

Their lips crushed together, and all Thomas could taste was the other (and fire, and heat, and the cold he had been feeling for weeks had disappeared entirely, making way for warmth, warmth, warmth, and he threw his arms around Newt’s shoulders and kissed him back hungrily, still surrounded by fire and sulfuric and chalk dust.) 

Thomas found himself pressed to the wall, those bright eyes on him, only him. “I knew you’d do it,” Newt breathed into his mouth. “It was a good idea, giving you the crest of my family.” 

“Your family?” Thomas got out, despite his mind feeling like it was disintegrating on the spot. Those clawed hands held him with precision and gentleness, not ever cutting his clothes, but Newt’s strength was enough to press him against the wall easily. 

“Oh yes. I think I forgot to mention that my blood brother, Alby, is the current ruler of hell,” the blonde muttered flippantly before kissing him again. “He sure wasn’t fond to see me walk the mortal realm out of boredom. That’s why he sent Minho after me.” 

“Does – Does that mean- “ Thomas began. He couldn’t think. Newt just grinned sunnily. 

“That I am the second-in-command of hell? Well, maybe.”

And he had summoned him. Sure, out of Newt’s own volition, maybe, but he had. Which meant- 

“Janson’s power on you is naught,” Newt said, speaking his mind. “From this moment on, you are mine; I am bound to you, and you are bound to me, for the rest of your days or longer. And tell me, Tommy, don’t you want to get away from this all? Don’t you want to be in a place where you are free to explore, to see things as you see fit, free from prying eyes of an old man that has no control…” 

“Yes,” Thomas all but whined, moving against Newt, enveloped in black wings and surrounded by heat and security and freedom, everything he ever wanted. “Yes!”

“Then come along,” the demon suggested, pointing to the portal. “Come along with me. Be my court wizard in hell, if you so want. Walk the earth whenever you please, and be glorious, be what you are made for…” 

Thomas took his hand, nodding fiercely, and Newt kissed him once more. 

They stepped through the portal side by side, their hands intertwined, into a brighter future than Thomas had ever imagined.


End file.
